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Thursday, March 7, 2013

Many Wines [Short fiction]

She was sitting across the table with the prettiest face
Eriq had ever seen. A beautiful black gown prided on her perfect body.But he could tell, she is not the kind that one
could charm very easily. She looked at him with the eyes that demanded an
interesting conversation. Eriq’s reputation of being an Author usually set such expectations
from the women he dated. What story could tell her, he wondered, rubbing his
sharp chin.

“A story? Is that all I can offer to please you my lady?” Her
asked her in an attempt to buy more time.

“Aha.. that is all. It’s is not every day that one gets to share
a drink with a writer.” She looked straight into his eyes as if she challenged
his art.

Eriq gazed at half empty wine bottle and pointed at it, “This..
Reminds me of a story- a true story!” he said.

This was way back in the 1980’s when I used to spend most of
my holidays with Granny Medley. She lived in a town called Burfesco. It was a small
commune nestled between the folds of two mountains. There was hardly any
concrete there barring the cosy residential cottages with hipped roofs. That
too, would be covered by green moss during the rainy season. This place was
unheard of and was mostly uninhabited. Granny had her own versions about the
history of the place. Some included the world war, something about the
vineyards, but all versions were consistently hazy and conflicting. They usually
depicted Grandpa as a Hero, were told over a glass of wine by a lady who was old
and had a reputation of being tipsy.

It was generally known in the family that our beloved Granny
who was once the smartest, the most widely travelled, the one that once personified
elegance was now a funny old lady with partial amnesia and a flare for sharing
stories from her past. May be that’s
what made it so easy to talk to her. There was nobody in the family who had not
poured their heart out to Granny Medley.She would either have a remedy or a story – either which way it would
generally fix the issue. What more she couldn’t help but forget the whole
discussion. Of all the fixes that granny had provided in answer to my silly
troubles of childhood and adolescence there is one thing which I remember very
dearly. It was a pearl of wisdom rolled out by innocent Medley. I was completely
unaware that I would carry it into my thirties as most simplified yardstick to
ensure I was with the right woman.

It was the summer after my first serious girlfriend broke up
with me.Anna, was a such a warm and
affectionate girl. Mild, understanding and shy or so I thought about her.I had never imagined there would be a day
when she would break up with me. She didn’t even battle an eyelid while telling
me it’s over or that she found the relationship too listless! I watched her walk away wearing the bright
orange half shoes and a white top little above where her jeans hugged her
waist. Her golden hair bounced on her shoulders till she disappeared. Not once
did she look back. And so I spoke about this to Medley in an attempt to
understand this girl who changed her stand overnight.

“How old is she?” Medley asked as she read the labels of her
priced wine collection in a teak cupboard.

“She’s seventeen! Does that matter?”I snapped wondering if Medley actually heard
my story or missed parts of it.

“Age is a factor, an important factor for a girl. Now, hold
this bottle for me darling” she peered overher glasses giving me a reassuring look that some story or fix is coming
my way. “Get two glasses dear, the round base ones placed in the second shelf
from the right.”

I reached out for the glasses and arranged them on the table
next to the window overlooking Medley's little kitchen garden. “She didn’t even
look back Granny. What kind of girl does that? Aren’t they supposed to be the
emotional ones?”

She joined me near the table with another bottle and a cork
screw. Her grey hair curled neatly below her ear. She has this posture she
normally assumes when she talks about something serious. Her foot folds towards
the side with her long skirt tucked behind her legs while she adjusted her glasses, “Read out the year of the
bottle next to you.”She dismissed my
questions.

“1982 White Merlot.. This looks pinkish” I read out the
italic words on the bottle that spoke about the greatness of French wines.

“This is the girl you dated. 1982White Merlot!” she said
after taking in a sip. “You know how it
is made..? The grape skin is left on to ferment for about four to five hours to
give that hint of the grape tang. That pinkish hue.. aha like first love! It
gives you a fleeting feeling but when you grow older its taste is too
immature for an experienced man or woman of tastes. Now sip this 1978, Merlot.”
She poured the wine just enough for a sip into the round based glass near me. “This
is the girl who left you! 1978... you will feel there is a whole new definition
to the taste of Merlot. Unlike the 1982...this one is very new in taste.. the
honey and cherry are sharper. Girls and young women are like freshly made wines
that define the taste giving more definition to their lives and interests as they reach different milestones of their life. She
left you probably because.. you know.. you were a Chardonnay.. dry and different.....
th” she stopped abruptly while looking outside window. “Oh dear, did I forget
to pullout those carrots again!”

Anna, the girl I dearly loved is a bottle of Merlot and I
was a Chardonnay? I let out a sigh of relief when Medley got up to take a look
at the overgrown carrots. That was a conversation I didn’t want to
continue. But that was only until years later when I met more women and went
through more and more heart break that I realized that Medley could have had a
point. My first step after this realization was identifying the wine or the
woman I wanted to be with.

Cabernet Sauvignon, they say is the queen of subtlety. Sauvignon
has the strong flavours of dark fruits which is masked in its earthy taste. It
is bold yet elegant with an essence that lingers after the drink is long
finished.

Eriq, looked at the lady who seemed very pleased with the
story. She would definitely find it romantic to be associated with a wine like Cabernet
Sauvignon and then he threw in a question, “Which wine do you think you are?”

This had set the pace for the night and the writer had won
his required audience. His Granny passed away when he was three. He had not gone through
several heart breaks as he was usually the one to break up. Anna was nobody but an element of his fiction and Cabernet
Sauvignon? That was the description he had read in the wine menu.

The End

P.S: Writing after such a long break! Wonder if it meets the expectations.

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